


Hidden Colours

by evadne



Series: Portions of Happiness [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Clothing Kink, Developing Relationship, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:50:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evadne/pseuds/evadne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dressing, undressing, and the art of having conversations about things without naming them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hidden Colours

It’s in Molly’s nature to worry, but she tries not to. She’s happy, and Sally seems happy, and Irene seems...Irene, so presumably everything is fine. Maybe not completely, one hundred per cent fine in every possible way, but what relationship ever is?  

 

For all that Molly has an unfortunate habit of developing intense crushes on unsuitable people, actually falling in love is not something she does often. Not something, in fact, that she’s sure if she’s ever really done. Maybe once, there’s one particularly miserable relationship she had in her mid-twenties that might have contained some kind of love somewhere. But that ended within a couple of months of coming into existence, and left her feeling drained and damaged.

 

She’s only had one other relationship that could even come close to qualifying as serious, and in that case her a-friend had been looking for – well, for a wife, really. Shae’d been something of a romantic, invested in traditional gender roles, and desperate for stability. Molly broke it off because she knew that wasn’t what she wanted, at least not yet, and because the a-friend wanted Molly not only to be domestic but also to be obsessively adoring, and she didn’t feel ready for that either.

 

And now Molly’s past thirty, and likes to think she knows better than to get into any more relationships that leave one or more of the people in them feeling dissatisfied and lonely. But that’s an awful lot easier said than done.

 

Sally has been behaving...oddly. Not in any drastic sort of way. But in the three and a half weeks since they first slept together, Sally’s withdrawn very slightly, while appearing more affectionate than ever. It’s disturbing, particularly since Sally’s usual honesty and straightforwardness are some of the things Molly likes best about her.

 

When they were still ‘just friends’ – though little’s changed about their relationship other than sex, and that is still intermittent and a bit nervous – they were so easy with each other. They called each other and suggested meeting up about an equal amount, though Molly didn’t actually keep track of it and she very much doubts whether Sally did either. Now, however, it’s impossible for Molly not to notice that Sally almost certainly _is_ keeping track. If Molly doesn’t call, Sally won’t either, but once Molly does Sally will call back within a day. When they’re together, Molly’s sure that Sally’s holding back. She’s suddenly less talkative, and everything she does say seems more calculated; she appears to be making a conscious effort to be witty, sparkling, engaging. She brought Molly a rose last week with a whole story about someone who was selling them and it being impossible to get rid of hoem without buying one.

 

And however much Molly wants to just grab Sally and kiss her and say _whatever else has changed you’re still my best friend and even if I never fell in love with you I’d still need you more than I even know how to say_ , or _it’s OK for you to just want to buy me a flower, you don’t have to come up with an excuse_ , or _I’m sorry I can’t move faster, this is just what I’m like, I’ll catch up eventually, I swear,  just give me time_ – she’s afraid that would only make Sally withdraw further.

 

Molly doesn’t know for certain, of course, that Sally’s further along, wanting more fiercely than Molly is yet. But that’s what this feels like. And oddly, that doesn’t make Molly feel worried or awkward, not in itself. The withdrawing is, yes, but if the reason for it turns out to be as she expects Molly will – actually be fine with that. And she wonders at herself, because she hated it last time.

 

But perhaps that’s because last time she knew, deep down, that she was never going to feel the same way, whereas now...now she’s fairly sure that she will get there. There’s all this warmth deep down in her every time she’s with Sally or thinks about her, and she can feel it spreading more and more all the time.

 

They just need to have a conversation about it, Molly decides. They need to stop hiding and just come out in the open and say the things that are hardest to say, because if they don’t this is all going to fall apart and Molly will not only lose this newfound warm beautiful thing between them, but the friendship they had before as well. And that’s a thought she can’t tolerate.

 

The talk will have to wait till tomorrow, though. Tonight, Molly has other plans.

 

*

 

‘Hair down,’ Irene says, surveying Molly critically. Molly obeys, feeling it spill over her bare shoulders.

 

Irene steps forward, buries haer nose in Molly’s hair, and they stand like that for a moment, close and silent. Molly is hyper-aware of her own nudity and the fact that Irene’s as impeccably dressed as ever. Then Irene produces a white box from somewhere or other and presents it.

 

‘What’s the occasion?’ Molly asks, taking it.

 

‘The occasion is that your taste in clothing is...questionable, and although I like to see you hide yourself away like a secret under all of your pink camouflage, I also like the thought of you going about dressed head to toe in _me_.’

 

‘We can’t all afford an entire wardrobe of Alexander McQueen,’ Molly says.

 

‘No, but I can,’ Irene says. ‘In point of fact, I can afford two.’

 

Molly caves – not that she ever planned to resist for long – and opens the box. There’s no ribbon, and the lid slides off easily. Inside is, unsurprisingly, a matching set of silk underwear. She thinks it’s black at first, but when she holds it up to the light, handing the box back to Irene, she sees that it’s actually dark green. It makes her think of trees casting shadows in forest pools, of secret caverns sealed with moss and ivy. Both the bra and knickers have tiny silvery buttons running down the middle, surrounded by crisscrossing Xs of material with slightly alarming gaps in between.

 

‘Put them on,’ Irene says.

 

Somehow, slipping into the underwear feels almost more exposing than removing her clothes did. The silk is extraordinarily soft, and her skin feels somehow sensitised where it touches her.

 

‘Happy?’ she says.

 

‘Not yet,’ Irene says, and she turns, and then turns back holding another white box, a much larger one.

 

Molly grins. ‘Oh, come on,’ she says.

 

Irene remains deadly serious. ‘Open the box,’ shae says.

 

Molly opens the box, and finds first a black jacket, simple but undoubtedly expensive, and then a crisp white shirt, black trousers, and a silvery-grey tie. Underneath are black brogues, and black stockings with suspenders – there’s a place to attach them on the knickers, she realises. There’s also a black waistcoat with velvety dark green buttons which are the only colour anywhere in the outfit, aside from the underwear.

 

Molly stares at it and then, at a slight nod from Irene, starts to get dressed. As she pulls the stockings up, feeling them slide against her skin, she says, ‘I’d have thought you’d go for a dress.’

 

‘I’ve always liked an omega in a trouser suit,’ Irene says, ‘And I’ve wanted to see you in one since the first time I met you.’

 

Molly steps into the trousers. ‘I saw the pictures on your website,’ she says. ‘You were crossdressing in one of them.’ She remembers it vividly, because her breath caught at the sight, and she’d felt unexpectedly – affected. These days it’s pretty common for omegas to wear suits and ties, although androgynous fashion is still edgy enough to raise eyebrows. Alphas wearing skirts and dresses is rarer, though not unheard of. Beta fashion has long been utilised by both alphas and omegas as a way of getting round all the unspoken social rules about gender-appropriate clothing, but so little clothing is made with betas in mind that it's limited as an option, and anyway, Irene’s dress on the website was unabashedly omega in style.

 

‘Designers make such beautiful clothes for omegas,’ Irene says. ‘It’d be such a waste not to make full use of them.’

 

‘I’d like to see you in a dress sometime,’ Molly says.

 

Irene smiles. ‘You’ve stopped dressing,’ shae says.

 

Molly kneels to put on the shoes, then stands and pauses for a  moment, enjoying being dressed immaculately from the waist down and wearing just a bra above it. Irene apparently enjoys this too, because shae cups Molly’s breasts for a moment, then nods for Molly to continue.

 

Molly puts on the shirt, the waistcoat and the jacket, but when she reaches for the tie Irene stops her. ‘That’s not for wearing,’ shae says. ‘That’s so I can do this.’

 

Shae loops the tie around Molly’s neck and pulls Molly in closer. Molly goes unresistingly, but imagining how the tie would restrict her breathing if she did resist. The air feels charged – it often does around Irene, but now more than ever. Because Irene’s given Molly something she had no idea she wanted, and appears to be loving every second of doing so.

 

‘I thought you’d want me to go out in it,’ Molly says, as Irene presses haer nose into the back of her neck. ‘I thought you’d want – you said that thing about me wearing you, about everyone seeing.’

 

‘No,’ Irene says. ‘This is just for us. I made you into this and now I’ll unmake you, and it’ll be – secret. Just ours. Mine. No one else has to see.’

 

She steps even closer, pressing haer whole body up against Molly’s, and Molly feels haer prots straining against haer slim-fit black jeans, pushing up against Molly’s stomach. The tension in the air crackles, and Molly realises she wants to fuck Irene right now, while wearing this suit, while feeling utterly, extraordinarily _herself_.

 

‘You’re so lovely,’ she says to Irene, reaching down to unzip the trousers, and by the way Irene’s eyes widen and look shockingly young for a moment, Molly’s certain that’s not a compliment shae’s ever had from a lover before.

 

*

 

The next night, Molly spends at home, reassuring a slightly disgruntled Toby that he’s still in his proper cat place as the centre of the universe. The night after that, she goes to Sally’s.

 

Sally’s the only person Molly can talk to about Irene. Perhaps that should be odd, but the moments they talk about haer are some of their most natural, giggling as easily as they did when they were still _just friends_ , and that phrase is so hopelessly inadequate and misleading in so many ways, Molly knows, but she doesn’t know how else to categorise the change.

 

‘God, that sounds intense,’ Sally says.

 

‘Shae always is,’ Molly says. ‘And shae still wants a threesome, by the way.’

 

‘Oh Christ,’ Sally says, burying her head in Molly’s arm. ‘I’ll – uh, get back to you on that one.’

 

And then, from nowhere, the awkwardness seeps back in, and Sally raises her head and goes still.

 

‘We’re going to have to talk about this,’ Molly tells her. ‘This - stillness that keeps coming up between us now. It’s OK if you don’t want to now, but...I think if we don’t soon, we’re going to – I’m going to lose you, and...I mean, we’ll just keep drifting further apart and – oh, shit, you know what I mean, don’t you?’

 

‘Yeah,’ Sally says, looking stiller than ever. ‘I wasn’t sure if – I mean, we are talking about the same thing, aren’t we?’

 

‘I think so,’ Molly says. ‘You – you’re acting like...well, like people do when they start dating, I guess. But Sal, we’re not just dating, we’re – best friends who are now also dating, I guess? I don’t know, it’s all very messy, I see that. But – look, I don’t want to try and guess at what’s going on in your head, but I just wanted you to know that – things happen slower for me, sometimes, than they do for other people. And that doesn’t mean I won’t get there in the end.’

 

‘All right,’ Sally says, giving her just the merest brush of a kiss. ‘Yes, then, I think we’re on the same page. I don’t – you know, I never thought I’d want to wait around in a relationship for someone to – get there, as you put it. I’ve never done it before. If I thought there was a mismatch of any kind I’d end it. But I don’t think this is that, or at least I’m hoping like crazy it isn’t, because I really don’t want it to be. What I’ve been saying to myself is that it’s just – the same thing happening but at different paces. And it sounds like that’s what you’ve been thinking too.’

 

‘Yes,’ Molly says. ‘Exactly that.’ And she feels that warmth again. It runs deep, deeper than she realised when she first felt it, and right now she could swear that she feels it moving.


End file.
